For the second time tonight, James wraps his arms around me. But this time I lean into him, quietly, tucking my head against his chest. This hug feels more intimate without laughter acting as a buffer between us. His hands even seem to hesitate a little before finally splaying against my back and pulling me in firmly against him.
I slide my arms around his waist and knit them together at his lower back, savoring how soft his worn cotton shirt is against my cheek.
There. We’re hugging.
Madison and James: two hugging friends.
I want to say it’s strange—having my head on his upper chest—but it’s not. If anything, I’m now realizing how strange it is that after all my years of knowing him, this is the first time we’ve ever hugged. I like hearing his heart beat right into my ear. It’s a soothing cadence.
Most guys are either too scared or too freaked out by my emotions to sink into them with me. I could write a magazine article titled “How to Lose a Guy in One Step: Cry in Front of Him.” And that would be the entire article. No need for bodies of paragraphs . . . because that one act alone has had most guys I’ve interacted with take off running. Or . . . yell in my face.
“I promise, I’m not going to die,” James says in a quiet whisper at my ear. “Everything is fine.”
“Your elevated blood pressure suggests otherwise.”
“I think this is the antithesis of a pep talk.”
I angle my face up, resting my chin on his chest. “Swear to me you are going to take care of yourself and do what the doctor said to do?”
He looks back and forth between my eyes, seeing the ever-present shadow of loss in them. “This is nothing to worry about. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Swear it.”
A beat passes, and then he nods. “I swear.”
Satisfied, I peel out of his arms because any longer spent pressed up next to him is going to impregnate me. “Is there any way I can help with the stress part? I bet I could be a pretty good farmer. I look sexy in overalls too.”
He grins and shakes his head no. It’s hard to believe that this is the same James I’ve always known. The James who looked annoyed when I was in the same room. There’re no traces of that man here. In fact, the one looking at me with the stomach-swooping smile looks whatever the exact opposite of annoyed is.
He’s my friend now.
I track James’s hand as he lifts the toast to his mouth, taking a huge bite. “You’ve really already had this exact thing before?” I ask.
He balls up the paper towel that once held his toast and then takes mine and does the same, throwing them both away. “My mom used to make it for us all the time when we’d come in from working on the farm. But I haven’t had it in a while.”
I hop up onto the counter. “Next time I’m teaching you to make a beef Wellington.”
“Pass—I’d rather smoke.”
I playfully kick him, but he catches my foot with a laugh.Almost the second his hand comes in contact with my skin, his laugh cuts off. “Your toes are like ice. Are you cold?”
“My feet are always cold. I probably need to exercise more or something.”
He releases my foot and wordlessly leaves the kitchen.Okay, bye.While I wait to see what James is up to, I lean my palms back onto the counter. My fingers connect with paper, and I glance over my shoulder to find an open word search puzzle magazine. It’s bent so severely on the spine it doesn’t need any help staying open.
It’s lying next to an abandoned mug, and I can only assume that James Huxley does word search puzzles over his morning coffee. My heart twists at the image. I slide the puzzle over and find where he’s left off. He only has one column left to complete, and suddenly it feels like my life’s mission to find these words.
James returns a minute later with a nondescript, balled-up pair of white crew socks. They most definitely came from his drawer, and before that, a value pack. I’m tapping the pen against my lips and if he is shocked by my commandeering of his puzzle he doesn’t show it. Instead James—ever protective—slides a sock onto each of my feet. They’re so fluffy they would never fit in a pair of sneakers. These socks are made for boots and cozying up on the couch. And apparently . . .me.
I straighten my legs and wiggle my toes, taking a pleased look at my little piggies in a blanket. And then I point at the page. “I foundexcellent.”
He studies where I’m pointing and nods. “Cross it out.”
I do as he says. “You’re a menace for crossing out the words you find. Everyone knows you’re supposed to circle them.”
“My puzzle, my rules.”
I can’t keep the charmed smile from my mouth. “I never would have guessed you like word search puzzles.”
